Dear Brother
by St. Harridan
Summary: The Figaro twins: their separation and their union told in a series of four vignettes.


Lights flare across the dark night sky and Edgar laughs as red and purple and yellow streaks flash over Sabin's awe-struck face. He ignores the bruises on his fingers, bruises he received while making preparations for this special night. They hurt, but the pain is nothing when he can see Sabin like this, Sabin taking his arm and shaking it and pointing all over the place at bursts of colour that fade from green to red to the blackness of the starless, cloudless sky.

"This…this is _brilliant_, Edgar," Sabin breathes once his voice finally returns to him, once the fireworks are over and all there is to the night are croaking frogs and chirping crickets and the glow of the oil lamp in Edgar's hand.

"It's a gift for you." Edgar pokes the tip of Sabin's nose, the sides of his lips curled in a slight smirk. "Happy birthday, brother. That is, if you haven't forgotten your own name day."

Sabin pales, grabs Edgar by the shoulders. "Damn it all, I've forgotten mine and yours, Edgar. I didn't get us anything, damn it-"

"Hush, Sabin, you don't want to disrupt the calm of night now, do you?" Edgar reaches out, wraps his fingers around the back of Sabin's neck. With his thumb he strokes the back of Sabin's ear, a gesture he knows his brother is most fond of. "Let's not think about such trivial matters. 'Tis a night to celebrate, not to mope."

"I'll try to remember next year, Edgar, I promise." Sabin grins, thumps a fist to his chest, and Edgar nods, knowing that Sabin will forget his oath in a few days to come. It doesn't matter to Edgar, however, for he is content with just having Sabin by his side.

Sabin takes Edgar's hand in his, squeezes it as tightly as he can. "Thanks, Edgar."

Edgar sees the smile on his brother's face, the sparkle in his blue, blue eyes, and Edgar wishes to stay like this forever.

Nobody ever said it would be easy being king.

Their father always seemed to have the weight of the whole world upon his shoulders, but Edgar knows that he tried hard to shield him and his brother from danger.

Edgar had known from a young age that being a prince meant he would have to ascend the throne upon his father's death. He knew that everything would come to an end, that his father would die and accompany his mother in the afterlife. Edgar knew that Sabin was aware of this too, but Sabin was different; Sabin didn't acknowledge the fact that their father, upon his death bed, had been saying his last words.

Edgar couldn't watch Sabin endure another day of playing at being a prince, and so the coin toss solution presented itself. No matter what happened, Sabin would be able to choose his own freedom, release his long-restrained wings and take off across the desert and away from Figaro, away from Edgar.

_It's a shame that we had to part like that, dear brother. _

He knows he shouldn't be mulling over such thoughts, but Edgar misses those fine summer days when Sabin would run around the castle, shirtless, bringing shame to the Figaro household and granting Edgar an amusement of a lifetime. He wants to listen to Sabin's steady breathing as they lie in bed together, Sabin's skinny arm splayed across his chest and his fingers entangled in Sabin's hair, one of those nights when Sabin would crawl under the sheets and curl up beside Edgar because Edgar would always protect him from any demons lurking under the carpet.

Edgar rests a hand over his tired eyes and sighs.

Nobody ever said that being king would be this hard.

Seeing Sabin again makes Edgar want to bury an arrow in his brother's eye.

Just because he's king and just because he can.

Sabin's grown bigger – much bigger than that skinny youth Edgar played tag with around the castle grounds. Arms bulge with muscles unrestrained, hair unkempt and most likely unwashed for a week, curly chest hair peeking out from his collar. And yet the grin Sabin flashes him is the same, the way Sabin wraps an arm around him is the same.

It's as if they never parted.

It's as if things between them never changed.

But Edgar stays his hands, keeps them by his sides whenever Sabin is near. He doesn't want to touch him, doesn't want to even reach out and brush his fingers through Sabin's hair, or rub the back of his ear like how he used to. He doesn't want to ruin their brotherhood for his own selfish reasons, for he knows that if he starts, he will not stop.

So he pushes his thoughts to the back of his mind, wills them away, and focuses on the current crisis at hand: Kefka.

Edgar is at the window when he hears the door open behind him. He knows it's Sabin without turning; only Sabin would enter Edgar's room without a knock when they were children; only Sabin would come looking for Edgar in the dead of night, when everyone was asleep and no one there to interrupt their play.

"Having another one of your nightmares, brother?" says Edgar, an attempt to lighten the atmosphere. Nikeah still lies untouched by Kefka's wrath, but the rest of the world is now in ruins; their comrades are scattered, their wellbeing unknown.

"Isn't this already a waking nightmare?"

At that tone, Edgar turns to face Sabin and he feels a piercing ache in his chest when he sees how tired Sabin looks, how he appears older than his age. His shoulders are slumped, his usual grin now gone.

"Sabin…" Edgar crosses the room, but stops himself before he takes his brother into his arms. He wants to, damn it all, he _needs _to. He has to protect Sabin from the evils that plague this world, shield him from the horrors like how their father used to shield them; care for him like a mother would for her child. Sabin may be a grown man now, stronger, even taller than Edgar himself, but Sabin is still his dear sweet brother and Edgar would give his life for him if he must.

Edgar reaches out and touches Sabin's face, caresses a cheek with his thumb. The contours of his face are sharper now, gaunt, handsome. Sabin closes his eyes to the dim candlelight, sighs, weary for perhaps the first time in his life. He leans in to Edgar's touch. A faint smile tugs at the corners of Edgar's lips, and he doesn't restrain himself any longer; he doesn't give a damn anymore as Sabin's hands come to rest on his hips, those strong hands that battled monsters and saved Edgar more than a few times.

Sabin pulls him close until they are just one solid shadow against the blood red curtains and Edgar's heart is beating against Sabin's chest and he no longer has to squint to look into Sabin's blue, blue, beautiful eyes.

"This will all be over soon, dear brother," Edgar breathes those words into Sabin's mouth as Sabin wraps his arms around Edgar's waist, hands taking fistfuls of Edgar's shirt. He rubs the back of Sabin's ear with a thumb, presses a soft kiss to Sabin's lips that draws a tired smile. "We'll make it through. I promise."


End file.
